((Bridge, USS Gorkon))
::The viewscreen image was filled with static and distortion, but flickering there among the interference was the dark shape of a starship. The elegance of its long body was someone hampered by bulbous sections that almost looked as though the hull had bubbled out under internal pressure. As she looked at the vessel, Quinn found herself thinking of Sienelis and Marshall; what they were doing, how they were coping, what were they thinking…
::Were they still alive? She hoped so. She believed so. They had their wits and the resources to manage it. Albeit with difficulty, but they were hardly mediocre individuals.
::She sat back on her "throne", leaning an elbow on the armrest. All she could do now for Sienelis was hope that the plans she'd set in motion would continue bouncing along to their final destination. There was no way to influence events or support their key players while the Gorkon was entangled in its current escapade. "Fingers crossed" was no how she liked to run her operations.::
Reynolds: There it is. What information can we get at this distance?
MacFarlane: Not much more than what we’re seeing on the screen, sir. Size matches what we expect of our target.
Johns: I'm getting a brief shimmer of what could possibly be a deflector shield, but we're not within enough range to tell for sure. It's safe to assume they have one.
::It was. While the Kamarov Corridor was relatively safe for large ships, there was always the risk of an unexpected storm or plasma strike. Raising the shields was a sensible precaution — which was, of course, why they'd done it, too. MacFarlane consulted her console, before reporting back.::
MacFarlane: No indication they’ve spotted us yet Captain. We could send the probe in for a closer look at them.
Johns: That should bring us within sensor range to get a scan of their signatures. The transmission capacity for life signs is a no-go until we're more or less on top of them. Bandwidth demand is too heavy for anything more than a rudimentary tally.
Reynolds: Let's gather what data we can. How's our probe doing?
MacFarlane: It has taken a bit of a beating from the storms, but appears to still be operating within acceptable parameters. With a little bit of luck and a fair amount of skill, we should be able to get a positive identity for the vessel once the probe is closer.
Ross: Luckily we have plenty of the latter.
::He was sat in the multipurpose chair to her right, taken by the counsellor, mission specialist or whatever other position was required on the bridge at the time. One ankle resting on his knee, he looked perfectly at home on the bridge, and of course, he was.
::Johns studied his console, his eyes glued to whatever had stolen his attention. Things being what they were, Quinn had the sinking suspicion he was about to announce a complication.
Johns: Sir, I'm picking up something shifting in the sensor readings. Kind of moving like a wave.
::Behind her, the iris-eyed Rhakmar drew in a sniff of a breath, his sapphire-skinned prehensile tentacles twitching. He had a lovely voice; resonant, deep and rich, and she turned her head to the side as he began to speak.::
Rhakmar: To be a weapon of choice in this area known, tachyon drones have, for deflector shield drain in preparation to board. What, describing, you are, Mister Johns, expected, of an identified sensor net is.
::And there their complication was. Not something they had planned for, but she had to admire the ingenuity of it, an artful solution to the problem of the limited sensors aboard the Labyrinth's Scream. A reminder not to get quite so cocky about the superiority of Starfleet technology, because a little resourcefulness could go a long way. She smiled, just a little, appreciating a clever idea, even as it frustrated them.::
Rhakmar: With threshold line a wide net complete. If crossed, trigger a response from the ship or its defences, it could.
Reynolds: Let's not do that, then. ::She paused, then added wryly,:: At least until we're invited.
::Ahead of her, Johns' gaze was back on his console. One disadvantage of the way the Federation designed its bridges was that captains spent most of their time going off the posture of the officers manning the forward stations, rather than being able to see their expressions. A dancer he might be, but his body wasn't particularly expressive when all she had to by was the back of it while he was sat down.::
Johns: We can't directly transmit communications yet, and when we do, they need to be missing several key elements of the data packet, so how about a pulse? A single pulse of raw data, establish our failing communications, let them know to lower the net. If there is one.
Reynolds: A short message? Something that's just enough to catch their attention and get them to hold the door open.
::She nodded, propped her chin on the backs of her fingers as she thought. What kind of message would get the captain's attention and convince him to let them closer? After a little while, she finished sorting through the possibilities and decided on one.::
Reynolds: Send this: "Hello my friend, I hope you received my gift of silverware."
::Harry looked at her, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. She quirked her head toward him, once again hoping that Marshall and Sienelis had found their way onto that ship. If they hadn't, then there was little change that message would make any sense to Thertas at all.::
Reynolds: Hopefully it should ring a bell. We'll see in a minute.